Tough Prospect

by Laura Strickland

  “Why not?” Even to his own ears, Mitch sounded intoxicated. They’d shared a series of staggering kisses in the parlor and more on the stairs coming up. He could barely think straight. “I want to see you.”

  “Please, no.”

  Did she want not to see him? Did she perhaps want to pretend he was God-damned Trask? He didn’t like that one bit but knew he’d take what she was willing to offer.

  Whatever crumbs she threw him.

  Enough light came in through the windows, anyway. The moon must be up, shining above the city like a great silver eye.

  “All right.”

  “Undress me.”

  That he could do. His fingers, clever in their eagerness, went to work; his lips followed and kissed every place he touched. She made no protest.

  That told him one thing—she wanted him. No lie, she trembled with eagerness for it. If he had any remaining doubts, they were allayed by her groan of pleasure as she pressed her bared breasts against him and clove her mouth to his, after speaking one word.

  “Mitch.”

  Well at least she remembered his name. And, oh, God, she tasted so damned sweet. He wanted to live in her forever. His personal heaven.

  “Here.” He tore his lips from hers in order to speak. “The bed.”

  “Yes.”

  There, he trapped her on the side of the mattress, straddling her with his legs, while he pulled the pins from her hair. It fell down, curl by curl, to her white shoulders. Once more he let his mouth follow.

  The breath hitched in her throat. She reached for the buttons on his shirt.

  He licked the swell of one breast and then the other. She caught his face between her palms and guided him down where she wanted him. He latched on to one nipple.

  Forget about the world. Forget about the past and who he had been. Forget every damned thing.

  God, but he wanted her, wanted to pour himself into her. As simple and as consuming as that.

  “Mitch. I want it to be like before. Just like before.”

  He could do that. A repeat performance.

  She gasped again when he quit suckling and lifted her to the center of the bed. He stripped while he stood looking down at her stretched there like an offering. Did she know how much he could see by the moonlight?

  Did she care?

  Maybe not, because she reached for him as he climbed onto the bed, as naked as she. She planted her hands in the hair on his chest and slid them downward until her fingers curled around the length of him, standing upright. He nearly came off the bed.

  “Careful, darling. I’ll explode.”

  “Inside me.”

  She reared up and wrapped herself around him then—arms, legs. Her tongue wooed his into her mouth, and he slid into her below, just as easily. Holy, sweet Jesus, he couldn’t ask more from life than this. It felt so good he wanted to weep.

  Tenderly, he flexed himself inside her. He wanted to show her how he felt about her, make her forget everything else. Prove to her she was where she was meant to be.

  “Tessa.” He spoke into her mouth as he wooed her open body with his body, with his soul. “Say you want to be with me. Please.”

  She slid her hands from his naked back up into his hair and groaned. Her ankles locked behind him. “I—”

  “Tessa, I can become the man you want. Only tell me what—who—you want me to be. Anything.” He repeated the word as he pumped into her and felt her body quicken impossibly in his hands. “Anything. Anything.”

  She gave a gasping cry as they came together, and fluttered all around him, her body claiming his the way she’d already claimed his heart. For several minutes, all thought flew away. Then he realized she lay still beneath him.

  Too still.

  “Tessa? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He never wanted to be anything but gentle with her. But his passion had a mind of its own.

  “No.”

  Good. “Are you cold?”

  “Yes.” He drew the covers up over her, over both of them, and cuddled her close. He’d never believed in words of love—they were for the soft—and had never uttered them. Now he wanted to speak them and, more than anything else, wanted to hear them.

  If only she would say one small thing, a word spoken in tenderness.

  She stirred at last, and he eased his weight off her onto the mattress, though he kept her close, within the circle of his arm. By the light from the window he saw she had her eyes squeezed tight shut.

  Did she, after all, lie there pretending he was someone else?

  Trask?

  Oh, God, he couldn’t bear it. He—

  “Mitch?” His name on her lips. He closed his eyes in turn and pressed his forehead to hers.

  “Yes?”

  “You said…you said when we were making love, you’d become the man I wish.”

  Making love. “Yes.”

  “Did you mean that?”

  “Yes. Just ask me, Tessa. Just…” He kissed her, pouring all his need into her.

  “I think…I think we might be able to get along—like this—if you reformed.”

  Like this? More than one night? Nights without end?

  Wait a minute, though. “Reform?”

  “I think you should follow me in taking up good works, Mitch.”

  “We’ve talked about this before, Tessa. I’m not that man.”

  “You said you’d become the man I need. Mitch, I need—I need this city to see you differently, as a giver rather than a tough. As someone who helps rather than threatens. You have all this money; why not do something worthwhile with it?”

  “Like what?”

  “Reclaim and rebuild one of those orphanages. I know!” She gasped. “You could reform Carter’s. Buy it and transform it into what it should be. Carter’s in truth, do you see?”

  “Ah, Tessa, I don’t think—”

  “And then,” she breathed, “we might be together.”

  Together? She and he? What did she say, exactly? That she might be able to love him?

  If he were different.

  He shuddered at the magnitude of it. But he’d told her so, hadn’t he, as he came inside her?

  Whatever she wanted him to be.

  Not giving him time to contemplate it, she fastened her mouth once more to his and stretched her body beneath him. His hand moved without his permission to cup her breast.

  She stopped kissing him long enough to say, “If I remember correctly, last time we were together you made love to me twice.”

  Mitch didn’t need reminding.

  ****

  Morning came softly following the second night Tessa’s husband spent in her bed. But this time when she woke, she found he lingered there beside her. Still asleep.

  Ah, an entirely new proposition. It seemed one thing to indulge her wild cravings with him in the dark. The light of day turned his presence into something still more immediate and inescapable.

  She lay very quietly taking stock of how she felt, now, about him and watching the patterns the morning sun made on the ceiling—taking stock of her body also. She could feel entirely too much—Mitch beside her in the bed, the warmth of him, and the slow rhythm of his breathing.

  A terrible intimacy. It reinforced what they’d shared the night before.

  Oh, what had come over her? Throwing herself at him the way she had, virtually demanding he make love to her. Images of all they’d shared together swam in her brain, accompanied by the memory of sensations. How could she? She didn’t love him; she certainly wasn’t attracted to him.

  Was she?

  She stole a look at him, one of mingled wonder and disbelief. He lay sprawled on his back, with one arm bent over his eyes, sleeping quietly. She could see his chest, with that interesting pattern of black hair, rising and falling, could see his jaw with the stubble grown in and the fingers of his hand—long fingers with rough nails, square cut.

  No gentleman, this. But he’d been gentle and careful with her. She couldn’t complain of t
he way he touched her or, indeed, of the way his body fitted hers. Or how the things he did thrilled her physically.

  But that had been in the heat of the moment, in the dark. Awakening to find herself in bed with Mitch Carter in the light of day altered everything.

  He couldn’t be less like Richard if he tried. Richard. A wave of pain and helplessness rushed over Tessa. Richard, with his sunny smile and amusing personality might well be Mitch’s polar opposite.

  Tessa eyed the man lying beside her again. Beneath his bent arm she could just glimpse his features—no classic good looks such as Richard possessed, no. Instead a narrow nose with a wicked hook and those high, slanted cheekbones. Even in repose, he looked intent.

  But he wanted her. He wanted her—something Richard apparently did not. And if she could tolerate being near him in daylight, Mitch had proved he could satisfy the terrible craving that built inside her, a veritable fountain of need that sprang up until he touched her and she lost all sense of decorum.

  What had she said to him last night, in the throes of madness? She’d asked him to change, join her in her new vocation, become a different man.

  She’d more or less promised she’d be with him, if he did.

  Would he? Could he?

  Oh, what had she done?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Do you remember me?” Mitch asked, and then corrected carefully, “Do you remember us?” He eyed the old man in the pushchair with a mixture of burning hatred and disbelief. Could this really be the same figure that haunted his nightmares? The source of all terror? This pitiful, bony wreck of a man?

  Beside him, Tiny stirred. Mitch had pondered long before selecting whom he should bring along with him on this particular call. His lawyer, Mr. Gains, of course. They needed everything kept strictly legal, and Gains, used to Mitch’s ways, knew to look the other way when he should, such as during the application of judicial pressure.

  But Mitch had three of the boys with him also, those he deemed most deserved to come. Those who should see this—Tiny, Billie, and Tom.

  Did they all feel as shocked as he at being admitted to Morton Fink’s parlor and seeing what their old enemy had become? Old. Old. Frail. But perhaps, judging by the hard gleam in the man’s eye, not entirely beaten. Yet.

  Morton Fink eyed Mitch up and down, and his thick lips twisted. “I remember you. One of my boys.”

  His boys. God help the lad who found himself in this monster’s hands. Discipline and harsh words—never a whisper of love.

  Love. Mitch’s mind darted to Tessa. Nearly a week had passed since the night she asked him, in the sanctity of her bed, to change. She’d spent every night since in his arms, her body cleaving to his in the dark. And he nearly dared hope her feelings for him might be changing. That, more than anything—even the desire for revenge—had brought him here today.

  “And you, and you—and you.” Fink’s gaze moved from face to face, ignoring only Gains before switching back to Mitch. “You were the worst of them. Now I hear you’ve made a name for yourself.”

  “Yes.”

  “As a bully and a brute.” Fink virtually spat the words. “Can’t get more out of a gutter than you put into it. Scum, that’s all you’ll ever be.”

  “And you’re a mean old bastard.” Mitch caressed the words. “That’s all you ever were. Why don’t you ask us why we’re here? It isn’t a social call.”

  “I didn’t expect it was. You ran when you were—how old? Thirteen?”

  “Fourteen. Just after the last time you beat me. I still have the scars.”

  The old man leaned forward. “Well, bully for you. You come here to whine about it? Or do you want me to say I’m sorry? I’m not. A hard hand was the only chance you lot had of moving out of the slime where you were born. I tried. Obviously, in certain cases, I failed.”

  “I—we—didn’t come for an apology.”

  “Good. You won’t get it. Why are you here then?”

  “This is my lawyer, Mr. Gains. He tells me you still own Carter’s. The new man there’s just an agent. You’re still living off the funds that should be used to fill those boys’ stomachs.”

  “What of it?”

  “I want to put in an offer.”

  “I fail to understand what you mean.”

  Impatience joined the other emotions beating a tattoo inside Mitch’s head. “I want to buy the place.”

  Beside him, Tiny, Billie, and Tom stirred. He hadn’t told them why they were coming here today. He imagined they thought he wanted to rough Fink up. They liked that prospect.

  “Carter’s isn’t for sale.”

  “Everything’s for sale, Mr. Fink. Name your price.”

  Fink’s eyebrow quirked, and his cold gaze moved over Mitch slowly. “That wealthy, are you? And how did you acquire such wealth? No, don’t tell me—through blackmail, no doubt, usury and other illegal activities.”

  “Yes.”

  Fink gave a sniff. “As I said, the blood will tell.”

  Mitch kindled. “You don’t know what kind of people were behind me.” Even he didn’t know.

  “Oh, but I do.” Fink sneered. “I’ve seen it over and over again. Dropped by a whore, no doubt—and got by some lowlife no better than he should be. I did my best to eradicate all that from you—from each of you.”

  Tiny, who tended to react readily, could stay silent no longer. “Is that why you whipped us bloody and raw?”

  “Yes.”

  “Starved us?”

  “No, Tiny,” said Billie, beside him. “That was ’cause of his greed. The less coin he spent on food for us, the more he could put in his pocket.”

  Fink waved a hand. “Spare me your moaning. You all managed to survive, even if you have apparently sunk to your lowest natural levels.”

  “We are what you made us,” Mitch stated.

  “Wrong—you’re what you made yourselves, in your case the self-styled King of Prospect Avenue, isn’t that it? Ha!”

  “I want to buy Carter’s. If you don’t sell to me, you’ll regret it.”

  “What do you want with the place? I can tell you, it’s not a good proposition, certainly no money maker. Not worth your time. Anyway, what could you possibly do to me?”

  “I’ll expose what goes on inside that place. I’ll send somebody in to take a look at the books. I’ll—”

  “That’s not what I meant. Anyway, inspectors have already barged in—some bunch of do-gooders who have no idea what it takes to ride herd on a bunch of evil-minded young criminals.” Fink had no idea those do-gooders included Mitch’s wife. “What I’m asking, King Prospect, is why you want to buy an orphanage.”

  The boys all looked at him; no doubt they wanted the answer to that question, too. For twelve years they’d done their best—singly and collectively—to get shed of the place. Why return to it now?

  “I want to make improvements, bring the place up to nineteenth-century standards.”

  “Again, why?”

  “My reasons don’t concern you. But maybe I want to improve the lives of the poor sods stuck there.”

  Fink began to laugh, not a pretty sound. Mitch remembered him laughing like that when he beat the boys, as if genuinely amused. “That,” he said, “is a joke. All of you get out of my sight before I call the police.”

  “Mr. Carter,” Gains said, “we should leave.”

  “No,” Mitch told the lawyer. “I’m not done. Fink, you can either sell to me now and get benefit from the money, or I’ll wait—until you’re dead.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Just saying. You’re not looking too good. How much time do you think you have left?”

  “I’m not sick, just old. A few infirmities, mostly caused by rich living.” Fink smiled again. “You’ll have to watch out for that, given your lifestyle. I’ll thwart you by living a good many years yet.”

  “You sure about that?” Mitch glanced at his companions. The boys all stared, rapt. Mr. Gains gazed away into th
e near distance. “Fright can kill a man, or at least hasten his demise.”

  Fink’s lips pulled tight.

  “Live here alone, do you?” Mitch asked.

  “I have servants, as you’ve seen—both human and mechanical.”

  “There must be a whole lot of people besides us who hate you. Boys turned into men, those who survived.”

  Fink stared into Mitch’s eyes for a long moment. Suddenly his composure broke. “Get out of my house. Get out. Get out!”

  “We’ll go. But you give my offer some thought. Send me a message when you’re ready to sell. I’m on Prospect Avenue.”

  “You’ll fry in Hell first.”

  “Mr. Carter.” Gains touched Mitch’s arm.

  “Think on it,” Mitch urged Fink again, and they filed out the way they used to leave the dining hall at Carter’s after one of their meager meals, in a silent chain.

  Outside on the sidewalk, the sunlight had faded. The three boys clustered around Mitch, and Gains stepped away to the car.

  “Mitch,” said Tiny, completely forgetting the title of Boss he normally used, “what was that all about?”

  “Yeah,” said Tom, “why in tarnation would you want to buy that rat hole? Or have anything to do with it?”

  Mitch eyed them in turn. “Don’t it bother you that it’s all still going on? Sure, there’s another man in place at the head, but from what I’ve been told, it’s no better inside. And Fink’s still in control, giving the orders, living off the fat those boys never see.”

  “Well, sure it bothers me,” Billie said, squinting up his eyes like a boy in pain. “But to buy an orphanage, Boss. What you gonna do with it?”

  “Hire somebody to run the place right, make sure the boys get fed and see a doctor when they need one. Maybe make sure they learn a trade.”

  All three of his employees stared at him like he’d caught fire there on the curb.

  “But why, Boss?” Tiny emphasized. “You’re no do-gooder.”

  “Well, maybe I should be. A man has to think about more than his future, you know, in the end. At least, he does if he wants to be proud of himself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tessa entered her bedroom to find her husband there and waiting for her, something that had never happened before. In the past—the nights they’d spent together—they’d either come up here together or he’d followed her when he finished his work.